


family recipe

by alixnqveen



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Atsumu is rude but we love him too, Death, Family, Family Feels, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Hurt/Comfort, I love Miya Osamu, Inarizaki, Miya Family hcs, Pre-Canon, angst but it's okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:00:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26129932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alixnqveen/pseuds/alixnqveen
Summary: She didn't look up this time, but Osamu could see the twinkle in her eye. “I think it would. 'Specially if she knows you helped. Feel good food made from her loved ones will definitely cheer her up, even if just a bit.”“I dunno about you, but eating food always makes me feel better,” Osamu said with an amused huff.Granny’s smile grew, “I always knew you and I clicked, kiddo. Good thinkin’.”(A oneshot I whipped up in a few days because I made some Miya Fam headcanons and got inspired! No ships or romance, just Osamu growing up alongside his family with a pepper of angst and a lot of Family Things.)
Relationships: Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Osamu & his family
Comments: 14
Kudos: 82





	family recipe

Arms crossed and frowning, Osamu marched down the hall. He took up the cuffs of his sweater in his fists, clutching the fabric and tightening his grip around himself. _What a big fat jerk. It’s just not fair!_

Once he reached the end of the hallway, he considered finding one of his toy dart guns, perhaps to threaten Atsumu with more than his words, or pushes. When he spotted his mother wrapped in a blanket on the couch, however, he decided against it. He thought for a moment, glancing around him. _Maybe if I push him harder he’d listen to me_. But even he knew that wouldn't work, since time and time again it didn't work.

Instead, he was drawn to the kitchen. The door was cracked, letting both the light and the wonderful smell spill through. Osamu waddled up to it, hearing the quiet commotion of someone working away, the slight clanging of metal and a muffled and quiet voice. He pushed on the door, peeking his head inside. There was Granny, humming to herself lightly as she cooked. It didn't take long for her to look up and spot him, and when she did he almost couldn't help but pull back behind the door again, embarrassed. But he didn't, instead he glanced down as he pushed the door open a bit more in silence.

Granny smiled, “Hey there, kiddo! How’re ya doing?” Osamu simply stood near the entry, his shoulders still hunched. Granny continued, her voice growing softer, “Come on in, you ain't bothering me.”

With that, Osamu nodded as he stepped in. He managed to reach up and slide into the barstool at the island, soon resting his hands on the counter. He looked around, slightly enjoying the feeling of being higher up than normal. “Mama is sleeping, in the livin’ room,” Osamu informed as he spread his fingers out on the cool surface.

Taking out a flat board of some sort from the cupboard, Granny looked back at him, “Ah, figured. She had a tough day at work. Did ya need to talk to her?”

“Not really,” he said, shaking his head.

Granny hummed in response, laying the board on the counter in front of her. She took a carrot from the bag next to her and placed it on the surface, grabbing the knife at the ready. Osamu watched intently as she cut off the top of the carrot, the part with all the green stuff. She asked as she went, “Where’s your brother?”

Osamu frowned. “He’s in our room,” he said flatly.

“Did somethin’ happen?”

He didn't answer immediately. He looked back down at his outstretched hands. “Well… He wouldn't let me have a turn on the game. He got all mad at me and told me to go away, so I did.”

Granny blinked, having paused from cutting up the carrot. “Do ya want me to go make him share?” Osamu thought, then shook his head again, still looking away. She pressed on, “Why not?”

He hesitated. Part of him hoped Granny wouldn’t go and tell Atsumu to give him a turn anyway, but he also didn't want to _not_ answer since he was still frustrated by it. He never wanted to pass up an opportunity to talk about how much of a jerkhead his brother was. Peeling his hands from the counter, he gave in, “If ya do that, then he’ll get upset and cry, n’ when he cries, he’s so loud, n’ I don't wanna wake Mama up. She’ll be mad too, and then everyone’ll be mad.” 

Instead of being cross with either him or his brother, Osamu looked up to see Granny smiling softly at him, her head tilted to the side. There was a pause as she studied him, the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes growing deeper as her smile widened. She soon continued chopping again though, saying with a laugh, “Well then, you can hang out with me while I make dinner, yeah?”

He let out a breath, thankful she didn't cause a ruckus. He’d rather Atsumu not share than make everyone mad, before dinner especially. He could always steal the game back afterwards. “Okay.”

Once more Osamu watched her hands work, cutting even chunks into the carrot until it got to the end. She set the knife down and took up the board, going to the stove where the pot sit. Osamu soon discovered that was where the nice smell was coming from. He quietly observed as she dropped the carrot chunks in, though that was soon broken as he asked, “What’re ya makin’?”

Granny turned to him, stirring the contents of the pot with a wooden spoon, “Just makin’ some curry and rice, the Granny Miya Special.”

“Granny Miya Special?” Osamu tilted his head like a confused puppy. “What’s so special about it?”

She laughed, turning the knob for the burner and setting down the spoon. She shuffled back over to the island, propping up on it with her elbows. “I’m jokin’, it’s nothin’ spectacular. But it _is_ a family recipe.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well ya see, your great-grandma - Miya Asuka - she taught me this curry recipe when I married your grandfather. From what I hear, the recipe’s been with the Miya family name for generations.” Granny lifted her hand to Osamu’s cheek, “I taught your Mama the recipe as well, though she didn't have any daughters to teach it to herself, but that doesn't mean you or Atsumu couldn't learn it if ya want. It’s the twenty-first century, for cryin’ out loud.”

Osamu thought, pursing his lips a bit. All this passing through generations stuff was a bit confusing, but he was pretty sure he understood. He finally said, “So I don't have to be a girl to learn it?”

Granny shook her head, “No no, of course not. I think it’s just as important that the sons of the family know how to cook.” A playful smile tugged on her lips as she lowered her voice, “And lemme tell ya a secret, Osamu. Girls like boys who can cook, because the easiest way to someone’s heart is their stomach.”

“Huh,” Osamu quieted his voice too and nodded seriously, taking great care in thinking through this secret. “Is that why you married Grandpa?”

“Oh please!” Granny pulled back, snorting with laughter. “No, honey, your grandpa couldn’t make a sandwich to save his life. He just got lucky that he was so cute.”

“Oh.”

Her smile resting on her lips, Granny straightened up to return to her curry. As usual, Osamu’s eyes followed her. She glanced back to him once more before gesturing her head to the side, “C’mon, kid, lemme show you how it’s done.”

Osamu perked up a moment, then shimmied his way off the barstool diligently. He pulled at his sleeves as he made his way to his grandmother, curiosity alight in his gaze. Granny took out a step stool from one of the cupboards underneath the sink, and Osamu watched as she set it up for him. He grabbed her hand as he stepped up on it, reaching a height where he was able to observe the contents of the stove up close. He glanced around the kitchen, soaking in the experience with pure wonder. 

Granny explained to him what she did up to this point, showing him how she set the knobs on their electric stove, how she measured the ingredients, how she sliced the onions. He listened dutifully, nodding along as she showed him the various appliances. She offered Osamu to stir the curry, and he did so very carefully with great focus. Granny chuckled at his serious expression, then moved to prepare the beef. “Just keep stirrin’ like that, we don't want the curry to burn!”

“Right.” Osamu stared at the pot for a few more seconds in full concentration, before asking, “How long do I need to do it?”

“Oh not for long, this part I’m doin’ here will be quick.”

And away they worked, Osamu with his very important job of manning the spoon and Granny prepping and depositing the necessary ingredients. It was nice, Osamu took great care in his stirring duty. Before long they had set the curry aside to cook the rice, and Osamu was, unfortunately, relieved of his tasks for now. Granny talked through the process of rice preparation, and of course Osamu was an active student. In fact, he was quite enjoying this time with his grandmother, so much he had completely moved past the anger from earlier that evening. Granny commented with a laugh, “I should keep ya around the kitchen more often, if it means I got someone to listen to me ramble about, huh?”

Soon enough, Granny took up a serving spoon. She dipped it in the curry and brought it to her lips, lightly blowing on it to cool it down. She sipped it, her brow furrowed in thought. With a hum, she lowered the spoon to Osamu, “I dunno… whaddya think, kiddo?”

Osamu copied her and sipped the curry, though not without leaving some around his mouth. He hummed too, thinking deeply about the savory sweet taste that had a light kick of spice. He nodded affirmingly, saying with confidence, “I think it’s good.” He wiped his mouth, watching his grandma laugh again, sharp but full of smile. He realized it was much like the laugh that Mama had.

“Ah, I’m glad! It passes the inspection,” Granny went to the far cupboard to get the plates. She looked back, “It looks like that's it for now. Can you go wake your Mama for me? I’ll get everythin’ set up for dinner and call your grandfather.”

“Uh, yeah,” Osamu frowned a bit, disappointed that he couldn't keep cooking with her. 

Granny stepped over and patted Osamu’s head, smiling warmly at him, “Don't worry, bud! If ya want, you can come n’ cook with me tomorrow. I had a lot of fun, and I’m really glad I had your help! I couldn't have done it without ya. Thank you, honey.”

Osamu nodded, picking at his sleeves again, “You’re welcome, Granny.” He felt so fuzzy in his chest from his grandmother’s words, and fueled by the wonderful smelling kitchen, that he couldn't help but smile back at her. 

\-----

“Were you always so bad at volleyball?”

Osamu looked to his brother, glaring, “Oh be quiet, ‘Tsumu.” The new nickname didn't quite feel foreign on his tongue anymore, but he’d just gotten in the habit of using it so often that he couldn't help himself. Aran still called it silly but they didn't really care all that much.

“Look, all I’m sayin’ is your spikes were lackin’ today,” Atsumu lifted his hands in mock defense. “If I give ya perfect sets, you might as well follow through with ‘em.”

“Perfect sets? Really?” Osamu rolled his eyes, stepping to kick his brother as they walked. Atsumu kicked back as Osamu groaned on, “Your sets aren't perfect, dummy. Just ‘cause you're tryin’ out the setter position after me doesn't mean you're the star of the show.”

Atsumu huffed, “But you should at least be hittin’ ‘em!”

“Yeah, say that when your sets are _actually_ perfect.” Osamu smirked slightly, “Remember which one of us was setter first?”

“Please, don't be mad because I’m better now.”

“You sound like the mad one to me.”

“Well I was born first!”

“No you weren’t!”

“Yes I was, ask Granny!”

“Well I’ll ask Mom, she’ll say I was born first.”

“Not if I ask her before you, slow poke.”

“Did you just call me a slow poke?”

And with that, as if on cue, both twins took off running, speeding down the street with great hurry. Neither one let up, both were neck in neck as they zoomed through their neighborhood. Together they zipped past parked cars and trash bins, refusing to be the ‘slow poke’. Osamu felt himself get out of breath but he pressed on. He’d put this scrub in his place if it was the last thing he did.

Just as the twins turned a corner, Atsumu somehow managed to keep his momentum going and raced ahead by a few steps. His victorious laughs set Osamu off, and he doubled down his footfalls in an attempt to catch up. 

The jerk of a misstep and miscalculated hop later, and Osamu lurched too far forward. With a stumble, his feet bumped into each other and he slammed into the concrete with a yelp. The impact was only half-felt as the adrenaline was rushing through him, but a second later his hands flew to his leg and he let out another cry.

Atsumu picked up on it almost immediately, glancing behind him to see his brother curled around his knee. Atsumu stopped, eyebrows raised in worry. He scurried over to Osamu, breathing heavily as he tried to catch his breath, “Hey! Hey, are ya good?”

Osamu grimaced, his eyes shut tight and his hands gripping his leg. His shoulder was also stinging with pain, probably since he landed on it. He was breathing quickly, desperate for air since it was knocked out of him. It was taking everything in him not to cry as his knee burned and his mind spun. Instead he groaned, curling his head closer. _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don't cry_.

“Ey, ‘Samu,” Atsumu hunched over his brother, shaking his shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Whaddya think?” His voice shook. He closed his mouth again tightly, feeling a sob rising in his throat. He wouldn't cry about it, he wouldn't. _It was just a scratch, come on, get it together..._

Atsumu looked around the seemingly empty neighborhood, then at the bleeding cut on his brother's knee. He pursed his lips, lowering his voice, “Hey, we still need to get home. Do ya think you can stand up?” Osamu didn't answer, instead focused on breathing through his nose. It may have been just a scratch, but it seemed to hurt a _lot_. Atsumu shook him again, “Dude, we can get ya some help if you just stand up. We ain't far, it's not that bad.”

“Stop it,” Osamu finally opened his eyes, glaring sharply up at his brother. His gaze was blurry. He lifted one of his arms to wipe away the tears, taking in an uneven breath.

“C’mon, man up! Do ya think Grandpa would just sit there n’ cry?”

He frowned at Atsumu, “Can ya just stop talkin’?”

Atsumu returned the glare, “Well you ain't doin’ anything else!”

Osamu let out an angry sigh. He moved to sit up, taking deep breaths just like his mom taught him. He looked down at his knee, groaning again at the sight of blood. His face contorted in pain but at least he was breathing. As the twins peered over the scraped up knee and lower leg, Atsumu lifted a finger to touch it curiously. “Hey, stop it,” Osamu slapped his hand away. 

“Ow, that hurt!”

“Oh, _you’re_ hurt?”

Atsumu rolled his eyes without a biting comment in return, then stood up with a huff. He offered a hand to Osamu, looking away, “C’mon, we’ll get ya fixed up.”

They eventually made it back to their home, Osamu slinging an arm over Atsumu's shoulders even if he didn't really need it. His knee still burned so the help was better than nothing. Together they waddled through the neighborhood, Atsumu loudly blabbering away at how ‘it coulda been worse’ and ‘I bet it's not that bad, yer just a baby’ and Osamu flatly arguing back quips such as ‘it’s _your_ fault we started running in the first place’ and ‘shut up, ya drip’. 

When they arrived home, their grandfather, who was out in the lawn tending to the flower boxes, called to them as they approached, “Oi, what happened there?”

“He tripped on the way home,” Atsumu called back.

Osamu grumbled but didn't say anything further. He couldn't quite dispute it since it was the truth, but it sounded pretty pathetic coming out of his brother’s mouth. His cheeks felt hot as he pulled his arm away, shifting his weight on his unhurt leg. Grandpa looked at him with a small smile, “Are you all right, bud?”

“Not really,” Osamu mumbled.

Atsumu chimed in, “He’s bleeding. Oh, and he cried.”

“I didn't cry.”

“Yeah you did.”

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

With a chuckle, Grandpa pointed to the open garage, “Well, why don't ya head inside and get Granny to fix it up for ya. We can't have a star volleyball player out on an injury, right?”

Osamu smiled as Atsumu’s jaw dropped a bit. Before he could complain about it, Osamu nodded, “Okay. Thanks, Grandpa.”

“I hope you feel better,” he said with a grin. He added on, like he was suddenly remembering something, “Oh! Your mama called, said she’ll be late at the hospital tonight.”

“Whaaaat?” Atsumu whined. “But she was home late yesterday too!”

Grandpa shrugged, “I know, but she’s been workin’ to get some overtime recently. She works very hard y’know, just for you two.”

Atsumu pouted, digging his foot into the ground, “Well yeah, but I was gonna show her my cool new serve I learned.”

“The floater you kept flubbing at practice today?” Osamu said.

“Oh shut yer trap, cripple.”

“I just scraped my knee, idiot.”

Their grandfather lifted a finger, scolding, “Hey now! Boys, be nice for once.” He shook his head, placing his hands on his hips, “Atsumu, you can always show me or Granny later. Be grateful for yer mama. She might not be here right now, but she puts in this extra work because she loves ya.”

Osamu nodded and Atsumu hummed in acknowledgement, but the both of them were frowning, their eyebrows knitted together. As much as Osamu knew this and appreciated his mom, he couldn't help but feel put out whenever she wasn't home. When she wasn't home, she was at work, and when she was at work for longer, she usually came home exhausted and sometimes irritable. He didn't like seeing Mom upset, since there wasn't much he could do about it. Knowing she was upset indirectly because of him just didn't sit right.

Grandpa shooed the twins away, pushing them into the house since Osamu’s injury was momentarily forgotten. They hung their bags on their respective hooks by the door and took off their shoes. Osamu had to awkwardly lean on the wall as to not bend his knee, making Atsumu laugh, making Osamu glare. 

Atsumu called out - unnecessarily loudly, in fact - for Granny, in which they heard back from the living room, “Hey there, kiddos! Welcome home.”

“‘Samu’s hurt,” he informed with no inflection whatsoever, like it was no big deal. It wasn't, but the tone of voice still stung. Osamu pushed his brother’s shoulder a little, receiving a small ‘hey!’

Granny said with light concern, “Oh? What happened?”

The twins stepped past the kitchen and into the living room together, semi-shoving each other as they went. Granny sat on the couch, her hands busy with a pencil and her fancy drawing pad. When she spotted Osamu and his knee, she put her things gently aside as she stood, repeating, “What happened? Are you okay?”

Osamu pulled on the cuff of his left sleeve, shrugging, “Well, ‘Tsumu and I were racin’ each other down the street and I tripped.”

“And why were you two runnin’ around right after volleyball practice?” she said almost scoldingly as she kneeled down to take a look at the wound. “Your bodies need rest sometimes, boys, ‘specially when you're already jumpin’ and runnin’ a bunch to begin with.”

Atsumu had lifted his hands behind his head, saying as he watched Granny assess the damage, “It’s not like we were strainin’ ourselves or anything. Why not constantly keep up training, to get better and stuff?”

Granny looked at him sharply, “There’s a time and place for training your body. Wearin’ yourself out so much all the time is not healthy, ya hear? Even the pros you watch on TV take rest and leisure. Ya need to let your body rest and heal.” 

“ _What about mom then?_ ” Osamu commented in his head. It was so contradictory, Granny saying all this meanwhile his mother is off day after day working herself to the bone. He glanced over at Atsumu, and Osamu could tell he was thinking the same thing. The look was subtle but plastered all over his face in a reserved frown. 

Granny finally stood up, slower and more careful given her old limbs. Osamu wondered if Granny was wearing herself down, too, being the sole cleaner and cook of the house when Mom was away. She smiled down at her grandsons, “But I suppose you youngins have more energy than ya know what to do with. Just try to be more careful next time, for yer old little grandma’s sake?”

“Yes ma’am,” they say in unison.

“Well alrighty then. Osamu, come to the kitchen with me, I can get yer scrape cleaned up and bandaged.”

He followed her into the kitchen, his knee stinging as he moved it. He plopped down in the dining chair Granny pulled out for him as she went to retrieve the antibiotic ointment and one of those big square bandages. When she returned, Osamu asked, “What’re we havin’ for dinner tonight?”

“Ah, I hadn't thought about it. I was busy drawin’ all day,” she said, taking the wet washcloth and carefully swiping his knee. He quietly sucked in a breath as she continued, “I was thinking we could make some homemade sushi tonight, but I usually do it with your mama. Extra hands are always important when dealing with that.”

Osamu leaned back in the chair, feeling a bit better now that all the blood was gone. The scrape really wasn't all that bad now. Maybe he was overreacting. He mumbled, glancing away, “Well… I could help. If you want.”

Granny turned her gaze from the ointment in her hands to Osamu, a smile pulling at her lips, “Ya sure? I’d really appreciate it, kid. I can’t lie, you’re my favorite co-chef, but don't tell Mom.”

“I mean, okay,” Osamu smiled a bit too.

Gently rubbing in the ointment, Granny nodded firmly, “It’s a deal then. We can make extra for your mama and all her hard work.”

Osamu knew if he was overworked and angry coming home, he’d probably want a nice plate of homemade sushi waiting for him too. He thought for a moment, then quietly asked, “Do you think it’ll make her feel better?”

She didn't look up this time, but Osamu could see the twinkle in her eye. “I think it would. 'Specially if she knows you helped. Feel good food made from her loved ones will definitely cheer her up, even if just a bit.”

“I dunno about you, but eating food always makes me feel better,” Osamu said with an amused huff. 

Granny’s smile grew, “I always knew you and I clicked, kiddo. Good thinkin’.”

Being this close, Osamu could see just how many wrinkles dotted and pulled at her skin, how thin the hair in her bun was. Even her hands shook ever so slightly as she worked on his knee, though they were still strong and full of purpose. Her body was old but it seemed like her dark eyes were still so lively. He wondered if, to her, the wrinkles on her face were the ‘happy stretches’ she always mused about. From the way she grinned, he figured they were.

\-----

_Tmp. Tmp. Tmp. Tmp. Tmp._

Osamu stared down his homework, his pencil twitching in one hand and his head resting in the other. He once again read over question four. He’s been at it for half an hour now.

_Tmp. Tmp. Tmp. Tmp._

He took a deep breath through his nose, placing his pencil down. _Chill out, Osamu. Don’t lose your cool. Patience…_

_Tmp. Tmp. Tmp._

His gaze flickered up, sharp and pointed. He knew Atsumu felt it. His brother’s glower didn't change, though it felt like the thumping sped up.

_Tmp. Tmp._

Osamu tilted his head up, repeating “ _patience_ ” in his head. It wasn't working. His cool was rapidly slipping.

_Tmp._

He groaned sharply, “For Christ’s sake, can you quit it?!”

Atsumu did pause, the volleyball resting on his chest as he stared up at the wall. It wasn't long before he continued, tossing up and catching it as it fell. Another _tmp_ was the only response he gave.

Osamu rubbed his eyes, trying to calm down. But alas, it felt like nothing was going good right now. “I swear, you're such a sore loser. It’s exhausting.”

“Shut up,” his brother finally spoke, low and frustrated. _Tmp. Tmp._

“No, I’m not gonna shut up.” _Tmp_. “Yeah. We lost the tournament. It's not the end of the world, dumbass. We can just keep gettin’ better when we start high school.” _Tmp. Tmp._ “Just cause ya lost doesn't mean you totally suck. Can ya stop moping around like everything sucks?”

The thumping stopped. He finally looked over, glaring, “Don't lecture me about this. I know you’re just as mad. Just shut up.”

“Yeah, well I’m not going around acting like the world hates me.” Osamu felt in his chest that his brother was right, he _was_ just as mad. It frustrated him more that Atsumu could see right through him. “Get over it. It's just a stupid junior high tournament. High school is where it really matters.”

“If we can't win in middle school, how’re we gonna win in high school?” Atsumu put his ball aside. He rolled off his back, sitting up. The amount of discontent in his expression was infuriating. “Don't tell me to get over it. I bet it’s easy for you to brush it off since you didn't even try-”

“ _Don’t._ ”

Atsumu pursed his lips, but continued, “No, you weren't at the top of yer game at all. By the second set you were screwin’ all my tosses, and you left the middle open way too much. What happened to that cross you were practicin’?”

“You think I don't realize all this?” Osamu stood, refusing to look at his brother. The anger was bubbling in him, he felt hot. He started for the door, “How much of an entitled jerk are ya? Your sets sucked and you know it. And because a few of your sets were suckin’, all of em started suckin’, and then your serves sucked. You’re a hypocrite, ‘Tsumu, this is why no one on the team likes ya.”

He stopped in his tracks, moments away from leaving the room. He sighed a little, a quiet worm of guilt wriggling in his chest. Why did he have to say that? The moment the words started leaving his mouth, they all tumbled out once. Now he really was no better than his loudmouthed, unrestrained, says-whatever-comes-to-mind brother. The tension in the room clouded his mind for a moment as the anger and regret wrestled inside him.

Osamu was about to turn back around when he saw Atsumu leap up from his place on the floor out of the corner of his eye. He barely managed to whip around and face him as Atsumu launched himself forward, gripping Osamu’s shirt in an instant. He gritted his teeth as Atsumu yelled, “Say that again, idiot!”

“Let go!” Osamu wrestled with Atsumu’s grip. “I’m tellin’ it like it is, since you got no trouble tellin’ me I suck.”

“Get off yer high horse!” He grabbed Osamu's shoulder with his other hand, pushing him. Osamu grunted in pain, then jerked forward to push back. Atsumu’s hold on his shirt dislodged, and he managed to grab the arm to hold it down. His head flew to the side as Atsumu used his other hand to push his cheek harshly, yelling, “You think yer somethin’ special, do ya? Yer nothin’ but a piece a’ crap.”

Osamu let go, pulling away from Atsumu. The intensity of their glares were staggering. He spit back, “I’m sayin’ we both suck! And that gives you no right to claim yer some star, that everything is everyone else’s fault. You need’a own up to yer mistakes, and maybe then everyone’ll hate you less.”

All Atsumu did was blink at him. Osamu soon realized it was quite rapid, his face was flushed and he was breathing quicker. Atsumu jerked his head away, and his voice was involuntarily trembling, “I don't care if they hate me! If they can't hit my sets, then-”

“Oh please shut up about yer stupid sets! Everyone screws up, including you.”

Atsumu continued to contain his tears, snapping back to Osamu with glassy eyes, “They don't care about it like I do! I pour everythin’ into practice, and if I’m not doin’ good then they need to be able to make up for it. That’s what a team does. But they don't, _you_ don't. And that’s not my fault!”

Throwing up his arms dramatically, Osamu mocked, “Oh, so now it's all awful! You're the only one that cares about winnin’, huh? No one else meets yer stupidly high expectations, is that right? Then quit, ‘Tsumu. Don’t play volleyball anymore, since you’re too good for any of it, y’know. Grow up.”

He was done here, there was no getting through when either of them were just so emotional, especially Atsumu. He stalked to the door, sliding it open harshly in his restrained fury. He closed it again, garnering an indignant squeak, since it wasn't meant to be handled so roughly. He didn't dwell on it though, instead he marched down the hall with closed fists. If he was in a child’s cartoon, there’d probably be smoke coming out of his ears. He turned the corner and entered through the door of the kitchen with haste.

He closed this door with more care, though it still rapped against the hinges in his wake. A quick glance around, he knew he was alone here. _Finally_ , Osamu sighed.

He stood at the door, head tilted upwards as he tried taking deep breaths. He folded his arms, pinching the sides of his shirt between his fingers. Not thinking much about anything particular since his mind was spinning with emotion, he shuffled around the counter. He washed his hands in the sink, not sure why he did so. Letting out another quiet sigh, he dried his hands with the towel hanging nearby, the one Granny embroidered herself for fun. He held it in his hands longer than necessary.

It was so _stupid_. Who was he to be so arrogant? With such high expectations of his teammates no less? Osamu knew; he knew what the other kids said about his brother, how they mocked him behind his back, how they didn’t want to be around him because he got so mean and competitive. “ _That Miya kid is so bossy… Nah, the other one, the setter. I’m convinced he purposely didn’t set to me today. I asked him ‘bout it but he was all like ‘Kokoru was open more often and I trusted him’ er somethin’ like that. He’s a big ol’ turd._ ” But they stuck around, they always did. Because Atsumu’s tosses were almost always on the mark whenever he sent them, and with Osamu being there, the two of them were a fatal duo. Atsumu was, undoubtedly, a great player. Just a bad teammate, which was absolutely worse. 

Everytime Osamu tried to bring it up, he was so dismissive. He acted like he didn’t care, always claiming everyone else was jealous or they needed to get better. Osamu stopped trying to call him out on it months ago since it always ended in a fight. It was incredibly frustrating.

“ _How’re ya gonna be a great setter if your teammates hate you?_ _I mean can’t ya just listen to what they’re saying, ‘Tsumu? Maybe you should let up on the bullying._ ”

“ _I’m not bullying anyone! And if I was, then I guess it’s worth it. They’ll start steppin’ up and trying harder_.”

“ _This isn’t about tryin’ harder. This is a team, everyone is supposed to work together."_

“ _How’m I supposed to work with bad players? They don’t_ try, _and if that’s the case then they shouldn’t be playin’ a team sport. Simple._ ”

“ _You’re such a jerk. I hope I’m never anything like you._ ”

That’s what he said. But unfortunately they were more similar than Osamu ever liked to admit. 

It took Osamu too long to place the towel back on the hook. He glanced down, a piece of paper on the counter catching his eye. He recognized it immediately, it was an ice cream mochi recipe, one he picked up from some school function a week or two ago. He’d brought it to his grandma in the hopes of making it with her, and Mom had even gone to pick up the ingredients, but neither of them ever had the time to get to it yet; Osamu focusing on training and practicing for the tournament, Granny being unable to do too much around the house since she developed a nasty cough. He blinked at it, then picked it up, skimming through the instructions. Maybe he could ask Granny to help him with it now.

As if the simple thought of her triggered it, from beyond the kitchen door, Osamu could hear a bout of wheezing. Of course he couldn’t ask her. Him and his mom were the ones cooking dinner as of late, and Mom usually didn’t take much overtime now so she could be at home to help. Both the twins had to pitch in for cleaning, doing a bit extra than their regular chores while she was out. Granny was stubborn, insisting that the least she could do was help fold laundry to provide at all in her current state. But both Mom and Grandpa refused, making sure she stayed in her room most of the time in case she was contagious. And also, Osamu knew, because if she overexerted herself, it potentially wouldn’t be a nice outcome.

A feeling of guilt washed over him as he realized Granny probably heard the entire argument with his brother. They may have even woken her up from a nap. He vividly imagined her sitting uncomfortably in her mock-prison, listening to her grandsons ruthlessly bicker while she couldn't do a thing. Miserable, and on top of it sad to hear them fight like that. His gaze fell to the floor, downtrodden. He should probably apologize to her, right?

His eyes flicked back to the recipe. Maybe he didn't need Granny with him for this, he knew full well where everything was and how to follow instructions. It wasn't the first time he’d cooked by himself, albeit with tried and true recipes he knew by heart. Besides, he needed something to take his mind off everything, and cooking and eating always cheered him up. Almost like a confirmation from his subconscious, his stomach growled at him. He brought the page closer, and read the first few steps carefully. Before he knew it, he was already searching the kitchen for their aluminum cupcake liner pan.

If he were to strive to do anything perfectly, it would be his cooking. Osamu worked through the steps diligently, taking to the utensils easily since he was comfortable with everything they had available in the kitchen. He pulled out the strawberry ice cream that was less than half eaten from the freezer, then carefully began scooping it into the little cups with a cookie dough scooper (smaller than an ice cream scooper, Osamu knew). Once he was done, he slipped the pan and the ice cream into the freezer, then proceeded to lick the scoop as he read how to prepare the mochi flour.

He was so focused on the task at hand, he felt his anger and disappointment gradually subsiding. He thought as he whisked the batter, wondering if he was overreacting at both their loss at the junior high tournament and at Atsumu’s behavior. Deciding Atsumu was still a jerk either way, he reflected that maybe he shouldn't have yelled at him like that. And maybe, just maybe, he shouldn't use the team’s opinion of him as a card in his hand of insults and jabs. Not at a time like that, at least. Despite how much the team disliked his brother, he was still just that: his brother. Begrudgingly, he understood he had to stick by him, just like Granny told them once. He might not agree with his actions and he had full ability to call him out on his crap, but Atsumu didn't have anyone else. And neither did Osamu, if he was being honest.

He audibly groaned to himself as he covered his now mixed mochi with plastic wrap, grossed out by his own sappy thoughts. But Osamu knew, regardless of anything, Atsumu would have his back. It was an unspoken pact they shared, that they’ve always shared. So in turn, Osamu had to have his back as well. The big fat jerk of a setter, the loudmouth, rude kid, the dramatic and annoying little prick just so happened to be his twin brother. And besides, when compared, Osamu knew he was the nicer one anyway. Atsumu can be used as a bad example, his being there only made Osamu look better.

The microwave beeped, and Osamu was pulled from his trance of reflection. He took out the mochi, stirring it like the instructions said, then popped it back in for another minute. As he waited, he heard the creaking of floorboards outside the kitchen door. Just as he prayed it wasn't his brother, the door carefully opened and there stood the curious Grandpa Miya. His face lit up a bit at the sight of Osamu, “Ah! There ya are, kid. I was lookin’ for ya.”

“Why?” _Please don't be about Atsumu, please don't be about Atsumu, please don't…_

“Yer grandma wanted to know. She asked me to find out where ya were and if you were okay.”

Osamu let out a relieved breath. He nodded curtly, “Yeah, uh, I’m fine. Just makin’ some ice cream mochi.”

Grandpa dipped his head, smiling, “That’s good to hear, I can't wait fer it.” He leaned to the side for a heartbeat, then said just as the microwave beeped again, “Heard you fought with Atsumu.”

_There it is_. “Uh, yeah.” 

Neither of them spoke as Osamu mixed the mochi a second time, folding the batter substance again and again. His grandfather hummed, “Somethin’ tells me you don't wanna talk about it?”

“Not really, no.” He covered the mochi again, and for the last time put it in the microwave for thirty seconds. He turned back around, shrugging a bit, “I think I got it figured out though.”

“Are you apologizin’ to him?”

Osamu thought, narrowing his eyes. He relayed slowly, “Kinda but not really. Not… for everythin’ I said.”

The microwave was finished. He pulled the bowl out again, placing it on the counter. Grandpa finally said, “Well, all right then. I’m glad you can work out your own problems like that, that's very grown up of ya.”

Osamu didn't _feel_ grown up. Just frustrated, but good at letting go of his feelings. He said anyway, “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Grandpa said quieter. He leaned back out, but he said as he went, “Now don't get excited, but I’d be expecting a nice few words from yer brother soon if I was you. But _I_ didn't say that.”

A small smile pulled at the corners of Osamu’s lips, “Didn’t say what?” That made Grandpa chuckle. Osamu added on, “Oh, tell Granny I’m sorry for me. I hope she’s doin’ better.”

Grandpa stopped momentarily, “She’s not better… but she ain't worse. I’ll let ‘er know you send her some love.”

“‘Kay, thanks.”

With a click, Grandpa was gone. Osamu stared at the door a moment longer before continuing his recipe. He spread out parchment paper on the counter, peppering it “generously” with potato starch like the recipe tells him. He scooped out the mochi on the paper, and after covering the top of the batter and his roller with potato starch, he began to roll it out. Osamu felt calm here, the silence with the exception of his working hands was something he always felt when cooking with his grandma. In fact, the nostalgia he felt wasn't at all squeezed with sadness or regrets; just easy, happy moments from his young childhood. He still remembered the words Granny had spoken to him a few times before, “the easiest way to someone's heart is their stomach”. Osamu felt that was something he always clicked with since he was usually on the happy receiving end as he ate, but since he’d been cooking and baking more and more over the years, here he was on the other side by himself, making food for others. In his grandma’s eyes, perhaps, putting out a physical form of love.

Osamu had transferred his rolled out mochi to a baking sheet, and was awkwardly trying to finagle it in the refrigerator when he heard the kitchen door open. He glanced over, and paused when he saw Atsumu. He was frowning, but very clearly not as upset as he was earlier that afternoon. Osamu blankly stared at him, staying silent. Atsumu raised an eyebrow at the sight before him, “Need some help with that?”

Osamu looked back at his mochi for a heartbeat, then nodded to his brother, “Sure.”

Atsumu helped him pull out and rearrange the contents of the fridge. They pushed things around in silence, the only communication between them being small words and grunts. Eventually they successfully inserted the sheet, and closed the door in a hurry. Osamu rubbed his goosebumped arms quickly, mentally cursing his brother for wearing a hoodie at the moment. 

They just stood at the refrigerator, quiet. Atsumu didn't meet his gaze, instead scratched the back of his neck whilst staring at the floor. Osamu was about to move away when his brother finally said, “Whatcha makin’?”

A hesitant pause. “Uh, ice cream mochi.”

“With that strawberry ice cream?”

“Yeah, it was all we had.”

Atsumu quietly huffed, “I guess it’ll do.”

Osamu nodded, crossing his arms. He turned to Atsumu, “Look, I-”

“No, shut up,” he interrupted. Osamu was about to be offended but Atsumu kept talking, “I’m a big fat jerk, n’ I know that. I was just all upset, I guess, since it was the last real match we had with the team before high school. I mean we’ll be meetin’ up with Aran again next year, and… and I know everyone here hates me. But I guess I just… ah, I dunno.” He mirrored Osamu and crossed his arms as well, obviously begrudging in this explanation, “All I’m sayin’ is I know I kinda suck. And… and I’ll be an even greater setter in high school.”

There was silence. Osamu cocked an eyebrow expectantly. Atsumu groaned, throwing his head back, “I pour my heart out like that and I still get shafted?”

“You know what I want.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes so hard they could fall out of his skull. He said quickly and flatly, “I’m _sorry_.”

“For what?”

“You suck.”

“ _For what_?”

He impatiently tapped his foot, glaring, “I’m sorry for sayin’ you didn't try and that you didn't care. And… for jumpin’ on you like that.”

Osamu thought, tapping his chin. As he remembered back to their argument, he had to be sure that was all Atsumu really did. His brother whined, “Dude, can you just accept it and move on, I’m really askin’ ya here.”

“Fine. I’m sorry for sayin’ everyone hated ya like that. That wasn't necessary or constructive or whatever.” Osamu met Atsumu’s gaze now, saying a bit more firm, “I’m not sorry for tellin’ ya about how you screw up too and you need to work on stuff, but I _am_ sorry for how I said it.”

Bunching his lips to the side, Atsumu nodded in acknowledgment. They stared at each other for a good few seconds, until Atsumu raised his fist. Osamu lifted his own and bumped it, a silent confirmation that they were cool for now.

As Osamu waited for the mochi to refrigerate enough, Atsumu was talking on and on about whatever had been on his mind since he woke up that morning, Osamu liked to call it ‘Tsumu’s Topic Of The Day. Today it was about high school and how they were going to handle it. “What if the teachers can't tell us apart?”

Osamu shrugged, “We deal with that enough anyway, it's bound to happen. Let's hope they don't put us in the same class.”

“But I was thinkin’, y’see-”

“Oh boy.”

“Shut it! I was thinkin’ we could dye our hair different colors so people could keep us apart easier.”

Checking the timer he’d set again, Osamu asked skeptically, “What colors didja have in mind?”

“Oh nothin’ too crazy if you want, I don't care,” Atsumu waved his hand a bit with a smile. “I just think it’d be easier than our black hair, y’know? And plus, a new look for goin’ into high school would be cool!”

Osamu entertained the thought, imagining what he and Atsumu would look like in different colored hair. He chuckled a bit, “Are ya hopin’ to fish for compliments being the kid with the wacky dyed hair?”

He rolled his eyes again, dropping his chin in his hands as he sat on the barstool, “Well that _is_ an added benefit, but I didn't bring it up because you're boring and don't like attention.”

“That’s a shame, since I’d get more compliments anyway.”

“Whaaaat? No you wouldn't, you're ugly.”

“We have the same face.”

“We have the same smile too - oh wait! That's something you never do because you're _boring_.”

“I smile when I want to. I’d think about how I don't seem to smile much when I’m around you a bit more.”

“Screw you, you think you’re all edgy and cool by not smilin’. It's weird, people just think you're a weirdo.”

“At least I’m not practically begging for someone to punch me in the face everywhere I go.”

“Rude! At least people come n’ talk to me and think I’m friendly.”

“Literally nobody thinks you're friendly.”

“Same to you, emo kid.”

They held a look with each other, trying not to smile and failing, before both broke out laughing, Osamu looking away with an amused grin while Atsumu lightly threw his head back happily. As the timer went off and Osamu went to grab the mochi baking sheet, he said, “I’m impressed with us, that was some rapidfire banter, huh?”

Atsumu hummed, “We get better by the day, what an accomplishment. But I’m serious about the hair thing. You in?”

Placing the very cold sheet on the counter, Osamu gave in, “Sure, I don't see why not. I just wanna prove I’ll look better anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see about that.”

Another small smile. Osamu looked up at his brother, “You wanna help me cut out the circles and wrap the ice cream balls? It ain't that hard, I can show ya how to do it.”

\-----

Osamu genuinely could not remember the last time he cried this much, he was beginning to doubt he actually ever did. It didn't start as he said goodbye, rather the moment he began to leave the hospital room with his mom and brother in tow. He stopped in his tracks, breathing heavily, eyes wide and stinging. His heart felt like it would burst.

Moments before, he was silently sitting in the car, on their way to visit Granny. Mom hadn't said anything specifically, but he and Atsumu got the message: this was most likely the last time they’d be able to speak to her. Her condition had gotten exponentially worse in the months since she was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer. She refused treatment. No chemo, no radiation. Just her and her husband stuck in the hospital until…

His eyes were going blurry. He looked to his left, seeing Atsumu pause as he shambled down the hallway, the weight of his grief evident on his shoulders. He looked to Osamu, detached concern in his puffy red eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it. Osamu didn't comprehend much. His mind was spinning, his ears were ringing, his breathing was shallow. He was separated from his body. He was still in the room with her. Or was he back home, in the kitchen, hearing her tell him in her sing-song voice about her childhood stories as they made dinner? Or was he sitting next to her, peering over her shoulder as she sketched a butterfly, asking her about why she liked them so much? He could hear his heartbeat barrelling through his pulse.

When Mom decided it was time to leave, Osamu didn't feel anything. He watched her sit down in the chair next to Granny’s bed, sliding her hand into her mother’s. Granny had laughed weakly, but Osamu didn't hear anything of what she said. His gaze was locked to the tile floor. He felt like he should've been crying like Mom and Atsumu. But he wasn't. It was scary, feeling so cold and empty. It was alien, feeling guilty for not being emotional. Granny was still here. She was right in front of him, smiling. Shaking. Coughing.

“Come on, ‘Samu. We gotta go.”

Osamu watched his mother retreat, uncontrollably sobbing with her hand over her mouth. She stood next to Osamu, collapsing in on herself. As Atsumu went to the chair to speak to Granny one last time, all Osamu could do was look at Mom. Something about the way she shut her eyes tight, the way she stifled her blubbering to be as quiet as possible, the way she hugged herself and looked anywhere but the bed. His chest tightened. Icy and harsh, a claw of impending dread clutched him. The ice wasn't new, it had been building up day by day since Granny was admitted to the hospital. He started shaking. This wasn't happening.

“...’Samu? Can you hear me?”

Atsumu had followed in a similar fashion, tears running down his flushed cheeks. He used his jacket to rub his face, not looking at Osamu. It took him too long to realize it was his turn now. Everything was so, so slow. As slow as if he was wading through ice.

“Hey. You there? Osamu?”

He wasn't the one dragging his feet to the bedside. He wasn't the one sitting down in the chair. He wasn't there. This was too dreamlike. It wasn't happening. 

“Dude, come on. Please.”

Granny reached for him, shaky and weak. He put his hand in hers, trembling himself. He stared at their hands until he snapped up as she said, “Osamu. My dear Osamu.”

She wasn't crying, not sad at least. She was smiling. Her eyes were bright, twinkling. Sure, tears were rolling down her face, but there she was. Smiling. Like she hadn't a care in the world. There was a crack in his icy interior.

He couldn't say anything. He only gaped at her, analyzing her face again and again. The way the wrinkles on her mouth looked like dimples, the way the ones under her eyes crinkled like they always did. But she wasn't like she always was, not quite. Her skin was sickly pale, her eyelids were low and exhausted, her smile didn't reach her eyes. This was Granny, but it wasn't.

She reached over her other hand and placed it on top of his. They were cold. She said softly, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles, “You’ve grown so much. It all catches up with me at once, y’know. I look at you and I still think of the curious little boy in my kitchen. It's funny, ‘cause you're so tall now! And your shoulders are wide too. But I still see him, the little boy.”

She was right. He was much bigger now, almost 184 centimeters, a whopping 6 feet tall. But right there, sitting at her bedside, his trembling hand in both of hers - he’d never felt more small.

There was a pause, almost as if she was waiting for him. Or maybe there wasn't. He didn't know. It was like he was moving in slow motion, the world around him blurred. He looked down at their hands. His voice was a whisper, “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?”

Osamu blinked. For what?

“I dunno.” He felt it now. The ice inside him kept cracking. The cold pit in his stomach directly opposed the burning hot he felt behind his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to be back in the warm kitchen, arms wrapped around her waist, surrounded by the wonderful aroma of the dinner they’d cooked together. But he felt so _cold_. As cold as the hospital, as cold as the ice inside him, as cold as her fingers. 

And she was smiling. “Now now, what did I tell ya about apologizin’ for things you didn't do?” She patted his hand again, “You’ve done nothing wrong, Osamu. I’m so, so proud of you.”

“I just…” He didn't know how to finish the sentence. _I just don't want to say goodbye yet_. _I just want you to see me grow up for a little while longer_. _I just wish you could come back home with us_. _I just don't want you to be so cold._

“It’s okay,” Granny said quietly. “It’s going to be okay, and you have to believe that. Everything will be okay.”

“But it won't.” The tears were there, he knew. But they wouldn't spill. Like a glass filled to the very brim. He was so cold he thought his fingers might turn blue and snap off in her grasp.

“It _will_. I’m gonna be gone one day, but I won't disappear. You know I’ll be there with you. I’ll be watching over you, and yer brother, and yer mama and yer grandpa.”

The tears were there, and yet he still couldn't cry. He swallowed, breathing in unevenly. “Are ya sure it’s gonna be okay?” was all he could think of to say.

“I _promise_.”

Cracking. Melting. He suddenly wasn't cold. Too suddenly.

His lips quivered and he swallowed again. This is the last time he would see her. Right here, right now. After this, she was gone. No longer Granny, but an empty body. He could almost hear the ticking of the clock. It was too fast. It was _all_ too fast.

“I love you, kiddo. Thank you for bein’ here with me.”

No. No, it was too fast. He wasn't done yet. He had so much to say.

“I love you too, Granny.”

Stop, please slow down.

“I promise I’ll never forget you.”

He felt nauseous, like on a rollercoaster. It was all too quick. Just five more minutes, that's all.

“I’ll never forget you either.”

No no _no._ Please wait.

“Now run along, okay? I’m with you always. It’ll all be okay.”

Please. Stop.

“Okay. Thank you, Granny. Thank you.”

No.

It was far too fast. Before he could wrap his mind around what happened, he was stepping away from the bed. He was walking to the door behind Mom and Atsumu. He was standing outside the room. Atsumu was shaking his shoulder, his voice cracking. Everything was spinning. This wasn't real. He needed more time.

But when he turned around, the door had closed. Beyond it she lay, weak and old and _dying_ \- No, she was fine. She was standing, moving from one cupboard to the next, laughing.

She was smiling.

And the tears finally spilled. He gripped his mouth, backing away from the door. His sobs choked him, he couldn't take in a breath. The tears were hot, they were _burning_. He wiped his eyes with his sleeves again and again, letting all of it out as he gritted his teeth, barely feeling Atsumu’s hands on his shoulders, barely hearing his concerned words, “‘Samu? Are you… Hey, look at me.”

“I need… more time,” he choked. He didn't know if Atsumu acknowledged what he said. He was breaking, and the world was spinning, and she wasn't here. “She’s… ‘Tsumu, she’s gone…”

The hands on his shoulders were replaced with arms around his neck. His brother’s hold was tight, and he whispered, his voice strained, “I know, I know.”

He buried his face in Atsumu’s shoulder as the sobs racked through his body. He didn't care about the other people in the hallway, and neither did Atsumu. He was so hot, he felt like he could explode at any second. It was too fast. He’d run out of time. It didn't quite connect, that she was still there beyond the door, but he knew she wasn't. It was a threshold he couldn’t pass again. His time was over. And she was gone. 

His brother was quietly crying along with him. He tightened his grip around Atsumu, bleary eyed and desperate. He was an anchor to reality. He was here. He was still here. “You’re still here,” he croaked.

“Of course I am.”

“You’re…”

“I’m here. I ain't leavin’ no matter how much you want me to.”

“I don't… I don't want ya to.”

“I know. Yeah… yeah, I know.”

...

For the first time in his life, Osamu could barely step a foot inside the kitchen. The week following the last day he had with his grandmother was excruciating through his numbness. He tried. The morning after that restless night, where he laid awake, staring at the ceiling, knowing Atsumu wasn’t sleeping either - he tried to go in there. But he couldn’t do so without an intense dizziness and panic taking hold of him. He grabbed the first thing he could lay his hands on then slipped out as soon as possible. And for the first time in his life, the food didn’t taste like anything at all.

The twins had taken the week off from school and practice, Mom had gotten family leave for another two. Despite this, Atsumu was still practicing. He would do drills in their backyard, he wouldn’t come back inside until it was dark or he needed water. On the last day of their official week off, there was a knock on the door. Grandpa had opened it, and soon he called, “Hey boys, it’s fer you!”

Osamu, who was sitting on the couch quietly listening to music, glanced around. He concluded Atsumu was outside again. He pulled himself up, tossing his phone on the cushion, “Yeah, comin’.”

As he made his way to the door, he heard a polite but deep voice say, “I apologize if I’m interruptin’ anything, sir.”

Osamu recognized the voice immediately. He reached the front door before his grandfather could say anything, and there stood Kita Shinsuke, one of Inarizaki’s second years. He was impassive as always as he looked to Osamu, in his hands was a box of some sort. He dipped his head respectfully, “Hello, Osamu. How’re you feeling?”

He blinked, mouth slightly gaping. He quickly bowed back, “Uh, I’m fine. Thanks.”

Kita nodded curtly, “That’s good to hear.” Osamu wasn’t sure if Kita actually believed he was fine or if he knew he wasn’t but staying polite by not addressing it. It could’ve easily been either one. “Is Atsumu here?”

As his grandpa slipped away to give them privacy to talk, Osamu said, “He’s in the back. Practicin’.”

“He’s takin’ proper breaks? Eating and drinking water when he should?”

“I think so.”

“Tell him he should be, please. The one thing he shouldn’t be doing now is unhealthy coping by hurting himself.”

“I understand.”

“And what about you?”

Osamu closed his mouth. What about him? He could barely sleep, the house felt so quiet. The empty kitchen felt like a danger zone, a physical representation of how not-right everything was. There was talk about a funeral. Mom was silent and reserved all day long, Grandpa had dark bags under his eyes, Atsumu was irritable and always somewhere else. So what about him? Where was he in this mess? What was he doing?

He’d taken too long to answer. Kita seemed to understand though, “You both should try to get some rest too. I’ve always heard that sleep is the best medicine for any ailment.” He lifted the box to Osamu, “This is from the team. My grandmother made the food, and Aran brought the card. From what I understand, his little sister drew the picture. Ginjima wanted me to tell ya personally that practice is strange without you two and our captain wanted to say he’s awaiting your healthy return.”

Taking the box in silence, Osamu thought back to all the texts he’d gotten from his teammates, saying similar things. All the texts he left unanswered. He dipped his head again in thanks, mumbling out, “Thank you, Kita-san”

“You are welcome.” He bowed, “Stay safe, Osamu. And I give my condolences to the Miya Family.”

_The Miya Family_. Simply the name, the name he shared with every member in this house, painfully reminded Osamu of her. His lips tightened in a line. 

Kita stood straight - incredibly straight, mind you - and met Osamu’s gaze for a moment before turning and walking away without another word. Osamu stared after him for a bit too long, then looked at the black box again. It had ‘For the Miyas’ written in very nice handwriting. Certainly not from anyone on the team besides Kita or his grandmother.

Stepping back inside and closing the door, he considered going to tell Atsumu about Kita’s visit and the gift he dropped off. He decided against it, instead wandering back to his place on the couch. He set the box on his lap, then slid the top off carefully. He was taken by the hearty, comforting smell of food, seeing this was a large bento box. The food was still hot. This must've been made recently, he realized. In the corner was an envelope, slid between the onigiri and the edge of the box. He pulled it out and opened it without much thought. As Kita had mentioned, on one side of the letter was a colorful crayon drawing. It had a big heart, and inside the heart was stick figures of the twins (one with gray scribble, the other with yellow), who he assumed was Aran, and a much shorter figure of Ojiro Zoro, his 8 year old sister, with little pigtails in her hair. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t make the corners of his lips rise just a bit.

He flipped open the card, and inside were various messages from everyone on the team, even some of the third years he barely talked to.

_Get better soon, scrubs. - Suna_

_Love you guys, from Akagi Michinari_

_We’re sorry for your loss. Get well. Coach Kurosu._

_Take as much time as you need to get back. - Omimi_

_Atsumu, don’t overwork yourself. Let yourself rest, you are allowed to take a break. Osamu, take a deep breath. Even if you don’t want to, pay attention to caring for yourself. - Kita Shinsuke_

Osamu looked up, scared but not surprised. Of course Kita knew exactly what was going on with them. The twins were only with him for half a year and he’d already been scarily accurate in predicting what either of them were feeling or thinking, calling them out on their unhealthy habits or reminding them things during practice they tried to ignore. He couldn’t wait to show Atsumu just how insane this guy was with this card.

His stomach growled. He studied the food, breathing in slowly to revel in just how good it smelled. Though he knew he probably should wait for everyone else, he picked up one of the expertly crafted onigiri rolls. He tried not to think about how perfect it looked, how he longed to see if he could make one perfect himself. He smelled it one more time before biting into it.

As he sat and chewed, he was struck with both shock and relief. Of course, it tasted as good as it looked. He let out a sigh through his nose, closing his eyes and indulging in the wonderful feeling of eating. This was easily the best thing Osamu ate in the last few days, when compared to the endless amounts of quick snacks and takeout that made up his recent diet. It was such a weight off his shoulders to be able to enjoy it.

Then came a surge of regret and hurt. He swallowed, looking back at the onigiri in his hand. This didn't feel right. The contentment that should be happily bubbling in his chest as he ate, it was too soon. It made him think of her. Shouldn't he be mourning and praying every day, like Mom? Shouldn't he be trying to find a more positive perspective by writing down all his favorite memories of her, like Grandpa? Shouldn't he be doing anything to avoid sitting in the too-quiet, too-empty house, like Atsumu? He lifted his free hand to his face, covering his eyes. _And what about you?_

He was already sick of feeling nothing, of the days passing him by monotonously. This was the first time in too long that he was actually eating, and _enjoying_ it at that. But it felt wrong to already not be thinking about her. Was he moving on too quickly?

No, he thought, he wasn't. He still felt the staggering phenomenon that he’d turn the corner and Granny would be there, then the painful realization she wasn't and wouldn't be. His thoughts still wandered to her as he stared up at the ceiling in a feeble attempt to sleep, keeping him up longer as if thinking about her kept her image alive. He was still feeling like a stranger in his own home because it didn't quite _feel_ like home again, it didn't look or sound like it anymore.

But he had to _do_ _something._ Like Mom, like Grandpa, like Atsumu. He needed to be active one way or another. Just… what?

Osamu’s growling stomach pulled him from his thoughts. He removed the hand from his face, looking back at the bento, and at the onigiri in his hand, and at the letter he had placed beside him. Being surrounded by reminders of the present was oddly bittersweet. There was a hesitancy there, but he took another bite. Again the flavor flushed through him, like a breath of fresh air. Another bite, a wash of cold water. Another bite, the gradual lifting of fog on a rainy autumn afternoon.

The onigiri was soon gone, and he was left to carefully lick his fingers. He wanted to feel better. He wanted everyone to feel better. He wanted to skip all the grief and get to the part where he could live normally, still keeping her in his heart but able to let go. He couldn't though, it wasn't that simple. He had to relearn how to be happy without guilt, he knew. And he had to _do_ something, something other than lay around waiting for the time to come to him. Despite the logical part of his brain saying it never was for anyone, here he sat wishing it was as easy as eating some good food.

“ _Now run along, okay? I’m with you always. It’ll all be okay._ ”

He put the top back on the box, then sat it on the living room table with the letter sitting on top of it. With a deep breath, he stood. Taking soft steps, he closed the distance between him and the kitchen door. He was in front of it, staring at it from top to bottom. He reached for the handle, but paused. Sucking in another breath, he rested his fingers around it.

Granny wasn't going to be there. She wasn't going to be standing behind the counter, laughing. She wasn't going to be offering him to help with dinner, or showing him how to mix muffin batter, or teaching him how to chop an onion. She wouldn't be there. It was just a kitchen.

He opened the door, letting it fall open with an old, slow squeak. He peered inside, and he was right. She wasn't there. It was just a kitchen. He took a few steps in. He could see her washing her hands at the sink. He could see her trying to reach a high shelf and then asking him for help since he was ‘growin’ like a weed’. He could see her proudly putting her hands on her hips, surveying the dinner they had made from a recipe they tried for the first time.

But he couldn't. Because she wasn't there, and it was just a kitchen. The emptiness was gaping. But Osamu would force himself to get used to it.

He made his way to the dining table that sat at the far end of the room, glancing out the window since the curtains were pulled open. Outside was Atsumu, standing still, but setting the ball straight up with as much force and precision as he could. He set the ball again as it fell, and again, and again, and again. His expression was intense, serious. Osamu tapped his finger on the table, then turned back around. He headed behind the counter, taking another deep breath like entering the space had to be done with care.

He moved to wash his hands, using soap like she’d always remind him, then thought about the towel on the hook. He decided his shirt would be a better option. When he glanced back out the window to see Atsumu doing the same thing still, Osamu figured out what he was going to be making today. With a now-damp shirt, he opened a cupboard to get the biggest pot they owned.

…

Osamu was diligently chopping a carrot when the kitchen door suddenly opened. He met the gaze of his brother, whose forehead was slick with sweat. Judging by the way he was taking deeper breaths than usual, he had probably just stepped back inside for a bit. Atsumu studied the scene before him, then asked, “The food in the living room… What is it?”

“It’s a bento box.”

“No shit, I mean who’s it from.”

Osamu took up his chopping again, “Kita. He visited about 10 minutes ago, sayin’ the sentiment came from the whole team. They all signed a card for us.”

“I read it. Why didn't you call me in when he was here?” He put his hands on his hips, frowning.

With a shrug, Osamu said, “I didn't wanna bother you. Sorry.” In all honesty, after he had gone through the box, he had completely forgotten that maybe Atsumu would want to see it too. He wouldn't say that though, he didn't feel like getting made fun of.

Atsumu didn't snap anything back, he didn't even look all that mad. He just nodded, looking down. Osamu continued, “I’m guessing you read Kita’s message in the card?”

He saw Atsumu shiver out of the corner of his eye, “Yeah. It was creepy.”

“It was true though,” Osamu shot him a look. “He even told me to tell you that you need to take breaks. That ya shouldn't be-”

“I shouldn't be overexerting myself. Yeah.” Atsumu shifted his weight to his other foot, “I realized while I was out there I should be… bein’ a bit more careful.”

“Our bodies need proper rest.”

“Yeah, I know.” 

He knew that Atsumu knew. They shared an extended glance with each other. Osamu didn't realize until now how big a role she played in everything they did. There seemed to be reminders of her everywhere he looked and everything he said. 

Atsumu walked over to the refrigerator, taking the water bottle he stowed inside. As Osamu went to deposit the carrots in the pot, his brother said, “You don't mind if I crash in here with you, do ya?”

“I do.”

“‘Kay, thanks.”

He plopped himself on the far barstool, grinning like a mischievous idiot. Osamu rolled his eyes but he knew he really didn't mind. Somehow the emptiness of the kitchen felt better with two rather than one. 

They didn't need to talk much, since there was nothing to talk about. ‘Tsumu’s Topic Of The Day probably wasn't a very friendly one for everyday conversation as of late. Osamu soon asked him, “Are you gonna eat the food from Kita?”

“Nah, I like the smell of whatever yer makin’.” He took another sip of water to punctuate his comment. He suddenly gasped a little, “Oh, but they _did_ have tuna in there, didn't they…?”

Ignoring that last comment, Osamu pressed on, “Do ya think Grandpa or Mom would want it?”

“Not sure, couldn’t tell ya. We can save it for them though.” Atsumu looked up wistfully, “Ooo, I’m sure there’d be some killer leftovers from whatever they don't eat.”

Osamu stirred the contents of the pot, “You’re right.” His eyes were glued to the curry, watching it spin and looking for any mistakes that may crop up. Though he was doubting himself, he knew he remembered the recipe by heart now.

“Have you been getting texts from our teammates?” Atsumu asked, stretching his arms since they were probably sore.

“Yeah. Haven't been answerin’ though.”

Atsumu huffed a laugh, but lamented as well, “Me neither. Except for Suna and Gin, but only a bit.”

Osamu let the pot sit. He reached underneath into a cupboard to pull out the rice cooker, asking as he went, “Why?”

“Well I dunno, I like cultivatin’ my friendships unlike you.” He took yet another sip of water before saying, “Apparently we ain't missing much, except Akagi totally ate it when digging a ball yesterday.”

“For real? I never thought Akagi of all people would be so ungraceful. Is he okay?”

“Suna says he’ll be fine, but Suna’s ability to scale the severity of things isn't great, so I really don't know.”

Together they chat, not without the usual jab or joke. Osamu went through the steps like it was nothing, progressing through with an ease that seemed like he’d done it a thousand times. But it _was_ something. He took each step with careful focus, refusing to mess up or forget anything at all. 

When Osamu had nearly finished, Grandpa stepped inside the kitchen. Behind him was Mom, with a dark look in her eyes but a curious set of her eyebrows. She blinked at Osamu as he distributed rice on the plates, quietly asking, “Whatcha up to?”

Osamu was awkward under her gaze. “I was hungry, so I made some curry.” He held his breath, unsure how she would respond. 

Mom went still. She lifted her hands to her mouth, voiceless and quiet. Her eyes were soft, gentle and understanding. They were the same hooded eyes that passed on to the twins, and this time Osamu noted they had the very same liveliness Granny’s did. But now they had tears welling up in them, taking in the sight of Osamu, then flicking to Atsumu. She dropped her hands with a very deep breath through her nose and a growing smile. 

She stepped over to Atsumu and wrapped her arms around him, saying with a shaking voice, “I know I’ll never be half the woman she was. And she probably takes most of the credit for all the good things in you two. I don't deserve it. Right now, though, I am so goddamn lucky I get to call you both my sons.” She laughed through the tears, “Osamu, c’mere.”

He did so, going around the corner and sliding into her arms easily as she switched from Atsumu to him. Osamu was taller and bigger than her, but even then he felt like a little kid as she held him, swaying slightly. The nice smell of freshly cooked curry, the embrace of his mother as he laid his head on her shoulder, the laugh of his brother and the smile of his grandfather, the bubble of contentment he felt just as much as the fresh, cold open wound. He let out a trembling breath. He was warm.

\-----

“Would you look at that! Number 13, Miya Atsumu, has done it again, folks. On his fifth serve in a row, he pulled yet another service ace!” The announcer was excited, clearly impressed along with everyone else in the audience, “Miya has been known for his serves since his high school days but this is something else entirely.”

“I’d say so,” the other one joined in as they showed an instant replay of Atsumu’s killer serve, one that veered violently to the right, catching a player by surprise. “Miya’s been on and off this game but here on the fourth set, he’s got no trouble coming right in to tell us ‘no worries, this all-around beast from Hyogo has got it on lock’! Volleyball fans everywhere better be watching his every move, because Black Jackals number 13 is on fire!”

Osamu smiled at the TV, feeling the pride gush through him as they zoomed in on his brother celebrating his streak. Apparently the old man sitting at the counter was watching too, since he said, “Ey, there's another Miya. You related?”

With a laugh, Osamu nodded, “Yes sir, that's my twin brother.”

“ _Twin_?” he repeated. He looked up at the TV, then at Osamu, and back again. He leaned back, resting a hand on his forehead, “By God… they're twins. Oh, this old schmuck’s eyes are gonna need ‘nother checkup soon, I’ll tell ya what.”

Osamu chuckled again, pushing up his hat. “Ah, I’m sure you’re fine. Sometimes it can be hard to tell with his stupid flashy haircut.”

“Well, he certainly knows how to serve,” the old man lamented. “I’m always so impressed by these pro players, they're all so cool to watch n’ what not.”

“Oh, do you keep up with volleyball?” He turned up the heat on the teppanyaki stove, moving around the rice with a spatula.

The man nodded, “I got my hand in most everything, whatever’s on the television. My granddaughter plays volleyball though, so I’ve been seein’ it a lot more recently.”

Osamu moved to slice the beef, a very practiced action. “If I may ask, how old is she?”

“Lemme think,” he tapped his temple. “I swear I’m not a bad grandpa, hold on…” Osamu laughed again, adding a dash of oil before placing the beef on the stove. The man continued, “If I’m rememberin’ correctly, grade six. She been playin’ a year er two now, seems to really like it. But she needs to wear these sleeve thingies on her arms since she got sensitive skin.”

“I get it. When ya first start, the ball can break some blood vessels and it _does_ hurt,” Osamu chatted as he went. “I started when I was ten, and I’ll admit my arms were bruised for a good few weeks. Me being a reckless kid though, I didn't seem to care.”

“So volleyball’s a family thing then?”

Osamu’s gaze flicked back to the TV, “Yep. My brother n’ I played together all the way up till after high school. We almost won a national competition in our second year of high school, we made it to the final round.” He tilted his head at the memory, “But the spring of that year we were crushed in our first round. Only goes to show ya how you can't settle.”

The old man studied Osamu, “Why didn't ya just follow your brother and go pro?”

He took in a breath through his nose, “I just didn't like volleyball as much as he did.”

Osamu was met with a crooked smile, and the old man lifted his finger at him, “Well good on ya for carvin’ yer own path. And ya certainly have a talent here, as much as he’s got playin’.”

As if on cue, the TV roared with excitement. Atsumu was done serving but the Black Jackals had just scored with Bokuto, having received an impossible-looking toss. They zoomed in on Atsumu giving their ace a big high five and a shout, then him pointing to Sakusa with a large smile and some passing comment. Just before the screen cut away to the replay, Sakusa had flatly dismissed Atsumu with the wave of his hand, but even he too was smiling a bit. 

Osamu turned back to the stove, scooping up the rice and depositing it into two to-go boxes. He said softly as he moved the beef to the pot on a burner, “I guess you’re right. Thank you, sir.”

The old man started chatting away with him about the Black Jackals players, asking Osamu questions and commenting on their skill sets. Osamu nodded along and discussed with him, always taking the opportunity to talk about Atsumu. When the man asked about practice strategies for his granddaughter, Osamu gladly offered tips to him. He laughed that he hoped he would remember them all, and Osamu joked he could always come back. “Maybe I will, maybe I will,” he chuckled.

Soon enough, the meal was completed. Osamu ladled the curry in the boxes, popping them closed and carefully putting them in a plastic bag like the man asked. He pressed a few keys on his computer, then added his receipt, some utensils, and a few napkins in the bag. As he handed it to the man, he said with a polite smile, “Thank you for coming sir, please have a great day.”

The man took the bag, lifting his hand and bowing a quick thanks. As he eased his way out of the chair, he said, “I’ll make sure to check back to the match to see if them Jackals won, and I’ll be sure to tell my little Ren-chan that I met the brother of a professional volleyball star, yeah?”

“That’d be very nice of you,” Osamu folded his arms. “I’m always here, you could bring her in sometime. Maybe get her a nice lunch, check out some of the newer items on the menu…”

“All right, all right, I see yer game, kid,” the old man waved his hand with a laugh.

“I’m joking, I promise ya.”

The man nodded dramatically, “Ahh, okay, sure ya are. But maybe I will, maybe.” He turned to the door, saying as he left, “Thank ya much! God bless ya, seeya ‘round.”

“Of course, thanks again.”

And thus the shop was quiet again, save for the shutting of the door and the mumblings of the TV. Osamu took a breath, looking back to the game for a moment. He turned to his computer-cash register combo, clicking to log his inventory one more time. He listened to the announcer as he spoke at a timeout, “This game is 2-1 in the MSBY Black Jackals’ favor, even in the Hachikabara Mambas’ home turf!”

“The Mambas have admittedly been on a losing streak, save for the win against the Red Falcons two weeks ago, and you might say they felt confident going in against the Jackals because of it. But with Monster Generation players such as Miya, Bokuto, and Sakusa, paired with team captain and pro veteran Meian Shugo, they just can't be beat tonight, folks. With a score of 23-12 in the fourth, it looks like to me this one’s in the bag.”

“Ah don't get too confident yet. It’d be a spectacle if the Mambas can come out of their rut and take back the set, don't you think? They’ve done it before, and they can certainly do it again.”

“I suppose you’re right! We’ll stay tuned.”

As the commercial break played, Osamu considered shooting Kita a text to ask if he was watching the game too. He opened his messages and did so, adding on that he was curious what he thought about Atsumu’s performance today. He was ready to be met with both praise and incredibly specific criticism as always.

He slipped his phone back in his pocket. Stretching his neck side to side, he caught a glimpse of the framed photographs on the wall next to him. Pictures of the twins when they were kids, when Atsumu had gotten his acceptance into the Black Jackals, a candid of himself, stuffing his face on their twenty-first birthday - it was a great picture, he couldn't lie. And right next to the cash register was a picture of Granny with her arms around the twins when they were 8, Atsumu with a wide grin showing off his missing teeth and Osamu with his arms crossed picking at his long sleeves.

He glanced up at the picture of Osamu, Atsumu, and Mom standing in front of the store on the grand opening, in big words “Onigiri Miya” hung above them. Mom was crying before the picture was taken but you couldn't even tell since her smile was so bright. Atsumu had his arm around Osamu’s neck, roughly pulling him in, and pointing to him with his other hand. He had the most dramatic, over the top expression you can think of. Then there was Osamu, who was laughing as the picture was taken. He truly did look happy there, and he absolutely was. He was on top of the moon, in fact. At the right hand corner of the picture was a little message in permanent marker, an arrow pointing to the part of the logo with the family name in it. Osamu had written it himself as soon as he got his copies of it printed out.

It read, “Thanks, Granny. Hope you're happy with the name I picked out for you.” When Osamu hung up the picture, it was before the shop opened that morning, so he was alone like he was at the present. But with the smiling faces of his family staring back at him, he knew he wasn't really. That day, about a week after opening, someone had asked about the curry item on the menu, if it was special or different than a standard recipe. Osamu told them confidently, with a slight pull to his lips, “Well, it's a family recipe. Y’see, it’s the Granny Miya Special.”

Now, Osamu turned his head to see the loud celebrations on the TV. The Black Jackals won in a landslide, the Mambas never managed to catch up their 11 point gap from before. Atsumu was featured with his arm around Bokuto, who scored the winning point, yelling a victorious cry. Osamu pumped his fist along with him. 

A camera on the floor of the stadium rolled up nearby, viewing the Jackals from a closer angle, clapping and high fiving each other as they left the court. The audio was on and the program showed them all whooping and giving praise, albeit exhaustedly hyped. As Atsumu passed the camera, he stupidly grinned and pointed at the lens. “I’m still here!” he yelled like the overconfident jerk he was. 

Though at the moment they were separated on different ends of the country, he knew Atsumu had said that to him. Osamu rolled his eyes with a sigh, even if his smile was almost as wide as his brother’s.

“Yeah, I know, ya scrub. So am I,” he said quietly back at him. He knew Atsumu couldn't hear him, but almost like he had, the camera stayed on him as he moved his hands to his hips and laughed with his whole chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! Thanks for reading! This was a little something I decided to make ("little", it's 14k words jfc-) since I was spouting off headcanons of the Miya household and Osamu's relationship with food. I remembered vividly the panel from chapter 279 where Osamu mentioned "you'll make Granny sad" when Atsumu was thinking about changing his name, so I just ran with it. This has got to be not only the longest work I've posted, but the longest I've made period! And on top of it I'm quite proud of it? Mind blowing, simply astounding.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed and of course, kudos and comments are immensely appreciated. I'm not sure how many people will read this since it's not a ship fic but who knows! Okay, thanks again, and I love you! :D


End file.
